Chrissy Spratt Melds Afrobeats Flair and R&B Candor in “In Too Deep,” a Luxe Confession of Desire and Regret
Fluorescent city lights taste like bergamot when Chrissy Spratt’s “In Too Deep” oozes through headphones, its Afrobeats latté froth swirling into contemporary-R&B espresso. The Toronto chanteuse narrates the slippery calculus of desire—multiplying temptations, subtracting gratitude—over rubbery bass and rim-shot syncopation that mimic Instagram’s infinite scroll. Her velvet mezzo glides across airy synth pads, leaning forward on each triplicate “deep” like a confession smuggled through nightclub haze. Spratt’s pen excels at sensory friction: Givenchy lenses, diamond hands, quicksand nights; such imagery anchors self-reproach in tactile decadence, rendering emotional bankruptcy painfully luxe.
The production shines, too, sneaking palm-wine guitar ghosts between 808 thumps, crafting a sonic hammock equal parts Lagos veranda and downtown loft. Yet polish is double-edged; grooves remain so impeccably quantised that the yearning feels somewhat curated, a museum piece of heartbreak rather than a sweaty artifact. A slight harmonic detour—perhaps a minor-key bridge—could have deepened the descent.
Lyrically, the hook’s relentless repetition brands the psyche like neon, though its sheer frequency risks eroding nuance; listeners might crave an alternate vista beyond the hypnotic mantra. Still, when Spratt admits “Me plus my emotions, they subtract us,” the arithmetic hits with spreadsheet clarity, summarising modern relational math in a single bar.
Ultimately, “In Too Deep” functions like artisanal gelato spiked with chili: smooth, cooling, then unexpectedly incendiary. It seduces with groove, educates with regret, and leaves a mild sting that invites another indulgent spoonful—proof that self-reflection can dance as persuasively as it laments. Replay button becomes a confession booth on repeat.
Enjoyed the read? Consider showing your support by leaving a tip for the writer
TRENDING NOW
A roof leaks from the inside first; by that law of damage and repair, Khi Infinite’s new single “HOUSE” reads like both confession and renovation permit. The Virginia native, fresh from a high-water…
Heartbreak teaches a sly etiquette: walk softly, speak plainly, and keep your ribs untangled. By that code, Ghanaian-Norwegian artist Akuvi turns “Let Me Know” into a velvet checkpoint, a chill Alternative/Indie R&B…
Call it velvet jet-lag: Michael O.’s “Lagos 2 London” taxis down the runway with a grin, a postcard of swagger written in guitar ink and pad-soft gradients. The groove is unhurried yet assured…
A Lagos evening teaches patience: traffic hums, neon blooms, and Calliemajik’s “No Way” settles over the city like warm rainfall. Producer-turned-troubadour, the Nigerian architect behind Magixx and Ayra Star’s “Love don’t cost a dime (Re-up)” now courts intimacy with quieter bravado…
Unspoken rule of Saturday nights: change your type, change the weather; on “Pretty Boys,” Diana Vickers tests that meteorology with a convertible grin and a sharpened tongue. Following the sherbet-bright comeback…
A good record behaves like weather: it arrives, it lingers, and it quietly teaches you what to wear. Sloe Paul — Searching / Finding is exactly that kind of climate—nine days of pop-weather calibrated for the slow slide into autumn…
There’s a superstition that moths trust the porch light more than the moon; Meredith Adelaide’s “To Believe I’m the Sun” wonders what happens when that porch light is your own chest, humming. Across eight pieces of Indie Folk and Soft Pop parsimony…
Every scar keeps time like a metronome; on Chris Rusin’s Songs From A Secret Room, that pulse becomes melody—ten pieces of Indie Folk/Americana rendered with candlelight patience and front-porch candor. The Colorado songwriter, now three years…
Cold seasons teach a quiet grammar: to stay, to breathe, to bear the weather. Laura Lucas’s latest single “Let The Winter Have Me,” arriving through Nettwerk, alongside her album “There’s a Place I Go,” treats that grammar as a vow…
A campfire flickers on the prairie while the city votes to forget—rrunnerrss, the eponymous debut by the Austin-born band rrunnerrss led by award-winning songwriter and composer Michael Zapruder, arrives as both shelter and flare…